The children didn’t come for our anniversary—and it became the start of a new life. At last, we remembered what it means to be happy.
Years had passed since Emily married, and with each one, the distance between us grew. It felt as though she’d erased us from her life. Calls became rare, visits even rarer. When we did meet, her eyes were distant, unreadable.
That Friday, I hesitated before dialling her number. Victor and I had planned a quiet celebration for our thirtieth wedding anniversary—just a simple family gathering, a barbecue, shared laughter around the table. I longed for warmth, for familiar voices, even if only for a few hours…
“Hello?” Emily finally answered, slightly breathless.
“Em, it’s Mum. Are you at the gym again? Is this a good time?”
“No, Mum, I’m washing Paul’s car.”
“Why are you doing it?”
“Who else, Mum? Taking it to the car wash costs a fortune. It’s not like I’m made of glass.”
“Alright, love… I was just calling to ask—could you and Paul come over on Sunday? It’s our anniversary. We’d love to have a chat, spend some time together…”
“Since when do you celebrate anniversaries?” she chuckled. “Midlife crisis kicking in?”
“Thirty years, Emily. How could we not?”
“Sorry, Mum. We can’t. Paul’s mate Jake is getting married. There’ll be other anniversaries, but this wedding’s a one-off.”
I gripped the phone tighter, forcing myself to sound calm even as resentment simmered in my chest.
“That’s a shame… We were so looking forward to it…”
“We’d love to, Mum, but we can’t let people down. Don’t take it to heart—we’ll make it up to you.”
“Fine,” I murmured. “I’ll call your brother.”
James couldn’t make it either—he had his own plans. When I hung up, the tears came without warning. Like a child denied sweets. Like a mother forgotten.
“Nina, what’s wrong?” Victor stepped into the kitchen, finding me quietly crying.
“Nothing, Vic… The kids aren’t coming. And silly me—I’d hoped we’d all be together…”
“Don’t dwell on it. This is our day. You and me—that’s enough.”
That night, I lay awake, choking on bitterness. My mind screamed: *Why? Why don’t they need me? Didn’t we give them enough? Education, homes, endless support… And now we’re strangers.*
“Nina,” Victor whispered, “they’ve got their own lives. But you’ve got me. And I’m right here.”
“I feel so empty, Vic…” was all I managed. “You’re at work all day, and I’m alone…”
The next evening, he came home early, grinning.
“What’s going on?”
From behind his back, he produced an enormous bouquet.
“For you. And tomorrow, we’re going to the Lake District. Just us. A whole week.”
The cottage was like something from a storybook—wooden beams, lake views, flowers everywhere, birdsong at dawn. I woke to the scent of roses, the bed strewn with petals. Balloons floated in the corners, and the mirror bore the words: *”Happy Anniversary, my love.”*
I nearly cried from sheer joy. Then I glanced outside—Victor stood there, holding a basket. He opened it, and a quiet *”meow”* sounded. A tiny ginger fluffball stared up at me, bright-eyed and curious.
“Well?” He smiled like a boy. “Ready to welcome the newest member?”
“Vic… This is the best gift I’ve ever had.”
We spent the week as if newlyweds again. Seven days, but the memories would last forever. By the time we returned, our phones buzzed non-stop.
“Mum! Where have you been?! We’ve been calling—your phone was off!”
“Relax, love. Dad and I were away. We’re allowed a bit of time for ourselves, aren’t we?”
“Of course… But you didn’t call, didn’t check in…”
“Now it’s your turn to worry. Dad and I have decided to start living for ourselves.”
“For yourselves? Mum, are you serious?”
“We’re on our second honeymoon. And right now, we’re too busy for you.”
A year later, Victor and I live differently. He retired; we spend less, but we’re happier. The kids call more, visit more often. And when we look at each other, we thank fate—for refusing to let us fade into the background. For remembering that, in the end, the most important thing is *us*.
